OK, so I was looking up Walter Slezak yesterday, and found a dodgy online text of What Time’s the Next Swan? — it’s obviously an OCR scan from a hard copy, but it’s at least 95% legible, and interesting enough to make the effort worthwhile. Anyway, Slezak eventually gets up to the 1930s and the period where he’d gone out to Hollywood but hadn’t yet been cast in any movies there.
Ernst Lubitsch, whom I had known from my early days in Berlin, gave a big party to celebrate Max Reinhardt's spectacular production of Midsummer Night's Dream at the Hollywood Bowl. (In 1935 it was made into a movie, and I well remember the elegant souvenir programs that had William in profile on one side, and Warner's head on the other.) Supper in the playroom. I was seated at a table with Myron Selznick, die agent, Herbert Marshall, the great English actor, Gloria S. (who was then engaged to Marshall) and a writer, M.L., who was quite drunk. Gloria S, wore a lovely low-cut dress with little flowers on the rim of her decolletage. MJL to pick flowers. Miss S. made a brave effort to be a sport about it, and Herbert Marshall was also very valiant, whispering: "Come on, old chap, cut it out!" Well, a flower must have fallen into the decolletage, and M.L. tried to retrieve it.That was too much for good Herbert, who hissed: "You dirty dog” MJL quietly got up, lifted one side of the and tamed it over, spilling everything from fruit salad to champagne on the innocent bysitter, Mr Selznick. And before anyone could stop him, he stepped over to Mr. Marshall, who was still seated, and knocked him out of his chair. Herbert Marshall had lost a leg during the First World War, and though he gets around very well and manages admirably, it is not easy for him to defend himself in a fight, I became enraged, lifted MX. with my strong arms, and carried him, kicking and straggling, into the garden. The wife of M.L. materialized, understandably dismayed, and cried: "Please put him down. After all, he is a gentleman!" "He didn't behave like one," was my grandiose retort. And I threw him in the pool. When I returned to the playroom, I found bedlam. Lubitsch, the unfortunate host, was wrestling with Ali Hubert, trying to prevent him from going into the garden. Hubert was afflicted with a clubfoot and knew what it meant to be physically handicapped. He was swinging a full bottle of beer and announced that he would kill that son of a bitch MX. Lubitsch begged him not to. Back at our table an eager group of people were cleaning up Mr. Selznick, removing assorted viands and goodies from his person. Still on the floor and unable to get up was Mr. Marshall, unable to get up because Marlene Dietrich was draped over him, comforting him with a tiny lace handkerchief and imploring him over and over: "Speak to me, Bert, speak to me!" "Please let me get up! I am perfectly all right ? if you just let me get up!" was all poor embarrassed Bert could say. Mady Christians, the tall, blond statuesque actress, was restraining petite Gloria, who announced at the top of her voice what she would do to M. L.(painful and most degrading). And in the corner of the room stood Max Reinhardt, observing the scene with quiet detachment and said: "Indimerl"
I am still trying to figure out wha the word was that OCR rendered as “Indimerl.”
I don’t know whether Slezak is generally considered a reliable source — I tend to assume anybody known as a raconteur reserves some right to embroider for dramatic effect — but somehow his concealment of Saunders’ name (presumably to avoid embarrassing Fay Wray) inclines me to believe he was at least an actual witness. Whole thing here: https://archive.org/stream/whattimesthenext017858mbp/whattimesthenext017858mbp_djvu.txt
Zombie Thread
Ernst Lubitsch, whom I had known from my early days in Berlin, gave a big party to celebrate Max Reinhardt's spectacular production of Midsummer Night's Dream at the Hollywood Bowl. (In 1935 it was made into a movie, and I well remember the elegant souvenir programs that had William in profile on one side, and Warner's head on the other.)
Supper in the playroom. I was seated at a table with Myron Selznick, die agent, Herbert Marshall, the great English actor, Gloria S. (who was then engaged to Marshall) and a writer, M.L., who was quite drunk. Gloria S, wore a lovely low-cut dress with little flowers on the rim of her decolletage.
MJL to pick flowers. Miss S. made a brave effort to be a sport about it, and Herbert Marshall was also very valiant, whispering: "Come on, old chap, cut it out!" Well, a flower must have fallen into the decolletage, and M.L. tried to retrieve it.That was too much for good Herbert, who hissed:
"You dirty dog”
MJL quietly got up, lifted one side of the and tamed it over, spilling everything from fruit salad to champagne on the innocent bysitter, Mr Selznick. And before anyone could stop him, he stepped over to Mr. Marshall, who was still seated, and knocked him out of his chair.
Herbert Marshall had lost a leg during the First World War, and though he gets around very well and manages admirably, it is not easy for him to defend himself in a fight, I became enraged, lifted MX. with my strong arms, and carried him, kicking and straggling, into the garden. The wife of M.L. materialized, understandably dismayed, and cried: "Please put him down. After all, he is a gentleman!"
"He didn't behave like one," was my grandiose retort. And I threw him in the pool.
When I returned to the playroom, I found bedlam. Lubitsch, the unfortunate host, was wrestling with Ali Hubert, trying to prevent him from going into the garden. Hubert was afflicted with a clubfoot and knew what it meant to be physically handicapped. He was swinging a full bottle of beer and announced that he would kill that son of a bitch MX. Lubitsch begged him not to. Back at our table an eager group of people were cleaning up Mr. Selznick, removing assorted viands and goodies from his person. Still on the floor and unable to get up was Mr. Marshall, unable to get up because Marlene Dietrich was draped over him, comforting him with a tiny lace
handkerchief and imploring him over and over:
"Speak to me, Bert, speak to me!"
"Please let me get up! I am perfectly all right ? if you just let me get up!" was all poor embarrassed Bert could say. Mady Christians, the tall, blond statuesque actress, was restraining petite Gloria, who announced at the top of her voice what she would do to M. L.(painful and most degrading). And in the corner of the room stood Max Reinhardt, observing the scene with quiet detachment and said:
"Indimerl"
I am still trying to figure out wha the word was that OCR rendered as “Indimerl.”
I don’t know whether Slezak is generally considered a reliable source — I tend to assume anybody known as a raconteur reserves some right to embroider for dramatic effect — but somehow his concealment of Saunders’ name (presumably to avoid embarrassing Fay Wray) inclines me to believe he was at least an actual witness. Whole thing here: https://archive.org/stream/whattimesthenext017858mbp/whattimesthenext017858mbp_djvu.txt